


the notion of the idea of waiting for you

by JamtheDingus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Decorating, Domestic Fluff, Established Hunk/Keith (Voltron), Flustered Keith (Voltron), M/M, keith is so in love with hunk, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 15:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamtheDingus/pseuds/JamtheDingus
Summary: It was their first Christmas together, both living in the same house and as boyfriends.Keith was nervous about getting everything perfect, he’ll be the first to admit, but it was already so much more full of life than anything prior.He and Krolia never really had time to decorate, and Keith had honestly just been happy to get the presents he’d asked for. Krolia always said she was happy just to spend time with him.Now, though, Keith isn’t sure he’ll be able to go back to Christmas take-out and mini trees. He tries not to let himself get emotional about it.---Keith's first Christmas with Hunk.





	the notion of the idea of waiting for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackberry_peachx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberry_peachx/gifts).



> merry christmas peachie pie!!!!!! you've been such a grand presence in my life this year and i never feel i'll ever be able to repay ur kindness and friendship ;w; but i hope this makes you happy this christmas day!!!!!

“Keith!”

Said Keith jerks his head up, caught like a kid digging in a cookie jar. A half-chewed bloom of popcorn slips past his lips in the surprise and falls to the floor, where he’s quick to gather it back up unless he wants Hunk to fuss, or Kosmo to get at it.

Well… Hunk was already preparing to fuss, so that first part was a lost cause, but atleast Kosmo was saved from a popcorn-induced bellyache.

In Hunk’s hands he carries another large bowl of popcorn of the unsalted and unbuttered variety. Because it was all meant for _decorating_ , but Keith had a thing for popcorn in all forms. Sue him.

Hunk sets the bowl down specifically to put his hands on his hips, even as he grins good-naturedly at his boyfriend. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to do popcorn strings? We could’ve just made a couple bowls if you wanted to eat it.”

Keith responds appropriately by stealing a handful of kernels and shoving it in his mouth. Hunk laughs, loud and startled, but he lets Keith encroach his personal space to steal a kiss, too.

When Keith turns to finish hanging the last strip of popcorn-on-a-string, he definitely does not sneak one last piece from the very end of it, before he ties it off.

Hunk slides behind him, still chuckling. His hand trails from Keith’s shoulder, all the way down to his hips. It wasn’t dark outside yet, but it was close enough that Keith easily catches a glimpse of Hunk’s reflection in the window. His eyes are squinted and lips pursed as he tries to resist smiling at Keith’s antics, but he’s the absolute image of mirth.

The window was also reflective enough to see Kosmo sneaking up behind them, licking his lips as he eyes the dirty kernel in Keith’s palm. Kosmo was well-known for sneaking food straight out of someone’s hands, so Keith is quick to lift it away, turning in Hunk’s grip. He tips up on his toes, to distract Hunk with a kiss.

Before Hunk can fully fall into it, hands already trailing up to Keith’s back, Keith twirls away like a ballerina on clocktower. It leaves him off balance, and Keith’s snicker disappears around the corner along with him.

Hunk whines as much as Kosmo does.

When Keith comes back after rinsing his fingers and stealing a sip of the fruit-cocktail Hunk had made earlier, Hunk has backed up to get a full view of the room. It’s sparsely decorated so far, compared to the vision Hunk had described to him the night prior. That’s mostly because they’d gotten distracted early on choosing the perfect music and preparing the ornaments, but Keith thinks they’re making good progress.

They ended up settling on ‘Christmas rock’. Something with a nice beat that wasn’t so repetitive that it made Keith want to bury himself six feet under, but jingly enough that Hunk still felt like an elf in a present-factory.

And, it’s already better decorated than any other time Keith has tried it himself, and Keith equates it all to Hunk.

It was their first Christmas together, both living in the same house and as boyfriends.

Keith was nervous about getting everything perfect, he’ll be the first to admit, but it was already so much more full of life than anything prior, even when he and his mom had spent a holiday or two together while they were traveling for Krolia’s job.

They never really had time to decorate, and Keith had honestly just been happy to get the presents he’d asked for. Krolia always said she was happy just to spend time with him. Happy to be there for him.

Now, though, Keith isn’t sure he’ll be able to go back to Christmas take-out and mini trees. He tries not to let himself get emotional about it.

“Nice view.” Keith says, eyeing Hunk’s butt. With a laugh, Hunk swats at him from halfway across the room (as if it’d do anything), and presses his other hand against his backside as if to hide it.

“Just quit eating the decorations, you butternut.”

“Yes, sir.” Keith hums, the liar. He watches Hunk quickly get distracted with finding something else to do. He soon gets pulled in by the glow of the Christmas tree itself, stooping to adjust the fake-branches and spread them fuller in order to secure that one, irritatingly droopy string of garland that refused to stay in place.

It almost literally blew Keith’s mind that Hunk had invited him over for this. After only a year of them dating! Just to spend the holidays together— just the two of them, and Kosmo.

So, yeah, he was incredibly nervous. If he even tried to say he wasn’t thinking about everything that could go wrong at any moment, he’d probably get smited on the spot for being such a bold-faced liar, and left only as an electrocuted pile of leather gloves and a Christmas crop top.

Hunk, though, seems not so worse-for-wear as he untangles a couple Christmas lights. As if this was the most normal thing in the world, spending a major holiday with his boyfriend. Keith, his boyfriend.

The lights were meant to go outside, but Hunk had the right idea to do the hard work indoors, where his feet could stay fuzzy warm in his hand-stitched slippers, an early Christmas present from Lance— who’d gone back home for the holidays and probably most of January, knowing how clingy he got with his family.

Hunk flops into his recliner, the kind that rocks when he has the right lever pulled, and he hums along to the music as he patiently untangles the strings.

Keith leans against the back of the couch to watch him. He’s got that soft look of concentration on his face, identical to the kind he gets when he’s helping Keith get ready for bed after a long day of shoving hair out of his face and into the messiest of ponytails and braids. If it weren’t for him, Keith probably would’ve shaved his head bald by now, but Hunk seemed to revel in the activity that was detangling his boyfriend’s (!) head.

He always combs through, gentle and prodding. He massages at Keith’s temples with his warm, loving fingers when he has to pull a little harder to get a knot out, even though Keith’s felt worse. Especially when he goes to self-defense classes and his hair inevitably gets tangled in a heavy fist.

Hunk always kisses away the dull ache that comes with combing a head out for an hour or so, and Keith falls asleep with his face buried against Hunk’s chest, a fresh, carefully coiled braid nestled at the nape of his neck.

Keith, in the moment now, can’t believe he’s starting to get jealous of Christmas lights, but he’s been jealous of weirder ever since they started dating. Don’t get him started on the unbridled envy that courses through him up and down when Hunk sweet-talks to rising dough.

“Be right back.” Hunk calls, over the softly flowing music. If he realizes that Keith has slacked off to be lovestruck, he doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he slides open their patio door, which opens to a tiny shame of a backyard.

He doesn’t even need the step-ladder to hang the lights, tall as he was, and Keith was a little weak for the way his lower lip juts out as he concentrates on spacing everything right.

Keith ends up at the fireplace, of all places, on his quest to find something to distract himself with. If it wasn’t that, he’d probably be melting into a puddle against the couch, and Hunk would probably enjoy it. That beautiful entity of good and sun.

The fireplace hadn’t been lit yet— not until they finish the tree, just in case any tinsel bits float down onto the logs— but that just gave Keith ample opportunity to sweep out a bit of the dust and smoke-grime that’s built up. It wasn’t every month they used the thing, after all, and Keith was always excited for it.

When Hunk comes back, it’s to Keith halfway pressed up the chimney to brush ash out of the brick grout. It’s unnecessary, sure, but Keith always did like messing with the little details. Little, _insignificant_ details, that wouldn’t ruin everything if he messed up. It was something Hunk could agree with.

Hunk shuffles behind him, purposefully sliding his slippers across the floor so that Keith doesn’t startle and bump his head. He gives him a firm squeeze on the hip, teasing his fingers along the strip of skin exposed by Keith’s high-cut shirt. It was a simple red thing that he’d cut up into a crop-top after Kosmo ripped it with his claws, and he looked dangerously good in it.

Always did in red.

“Having fun?”

“Mm.”

Hunk taps his thumb against the mole Keith has, hidden against the fabric of his jeans. If he didn’t already memorize where it was from the number of mornings they spent together, half-naked and fully nude, it’d have been an accident.

“I’ll get started on the cookies.”

“Gingerbread?” Keith asks, muffled and echoing in the chamber he’s stuck himself in.

“Sugar cookies.” Hunk corrects. Then, grins, “Be right back, _sugar_.”

If Keith flusters at the petname, he’s in the right place to hide it. His skin is already hot from the insulated space, and Hunk can’t exactly tell if the onset of red against his skin is from a reflection of lights off the stone fireplace, but Hunk lets it be.

Hunk slides away with one last passing touch against Keith’s skin, and goes to dig through their stuffed-full fridge for the chilled dough.

It’s crammed to the max with food, and leftovers from the couple days prior, but Hunk is very sure that they’ll be gone right after Christmas.

He ends up finding the gingerbread dough first, and sticks his tongue out. He didn’t _dislike_ gingerbread, really… but sugar cookies had so much more potential. Plus, they were saving the dough for the after-Christmas party with the rest of the gang, which meant it was technically off limits until then.

It was Keith’s second-favorite flavor, too (the first being sugar cookies decorated specifically with those pearl-sprinkles). He loved the spice of the ginger and he loved the crunch, so Hunk didn’t completely knock gingerbread out of his life. If anything, Hunk made them for Keith and Keith only.

So, Hunk shoves it back under the potato salad and plucks out the right batter.

Hunk turns on the oven to preheat, and the knob jiggles in and out of place as he twists it. It was an old thing, that oven, but it was in their budget for a new one. Hunk mostly used the ovens at work to test new recipes anyway, so he didn’t need _exact_ precision at home.

And, though it was a hassle to deal with old appliances and squeaky floorboards, Keith and Hunk couldn’t have had a better deal fall into their lap.

It wasn’t technically their house, Keith liked to say. Hunk’s parents had chipped in and spent the largest sum on it, but Keith and Hunk paid the bills, so Hunk said it was theirs. Still, though, Keith piggy-backed his portion off of Krolia, sometimes, when he gets his paychecks late or when he spends too much money buying presents for Hunk instead of budgeting like he should. He can’t resist, not when Hunk smiles so sweetly at the little odds and ends that Keith finds in shop-windows.

Speaking of, Keith sneaks his way into the kitchen to find that exact, pleased smile. He’d come to see if he could steal a drop of batter to coat his tongue (or, maybe for Kosmo to taste just to stop him from following them all over the house), but he’s entirely distracted by the way Hunk has tied his hair off in a tiny little ponytail at the back of his head.

It exposes the soft curls in the back, sparse as they are, and Keith has half a mind to go over and kiss them for being so adorably inviting.

Hunk has only just finished cutting a portion of parchment paper to lay on the cookie sheet when Keith makes himself known, hopping onto the counter. Hunk sets the metal sheet down with a smile, leaning against the countertop to knock their heads together.

“Finished sweeping the chimney, you little soot-ball?”

Keith waggles his dirty fingers at Hunk, who’s expression drops to something deadpan.

Hunk shoos him off, though he does pause to accept a kiss to the cheek, and then another to the lips. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know.”

Keith washes his hands again, soaping them up longer than necessary just to smell the honeycomb infused in it. It was an addicting thing, but atleast it left his hands feeling soft in the aftermath of five-minute handwashing sessions.

He gets lost in the bubbles, this time. They tickle his palm as they pop and squish, and it reminds him of Hunk’s giggles when they’re in the bathtub together. It only ever leads to an excessive amount of water leaking onto the carpet outside the bathroom door, but it’s always so peaceful (minus the bubble fights).

Beside him, Hunk sticks the cookies in the oven. He has on the novelty oven mitts that Keith bought him, in the shape of yelling chicken heads.

“Hey.”

Hunk sets the chickens down and reflexively wipes his hands clean on his apron. Keith blows a couple honey-scented bubbles his way, and Hunk’s eyes crinkle at the edges with how wide he smiles. “Hey, pumpkin.”

Keith twists himself to jerk his head towards the living room. “Let’s go lay on the couch.”

“You wanna cuddle?” Hunk rubs at his chin, contemplating it as if he hadn’t already agreed in his head. “I think we can spare a few minutes.”

Keith doesn’t bother drying his hands off. He squeezes as many drips as he can off of them and petulantly wipes the rest across the embroidered pattern on Hunk’s apron. Then, he steals both of Hunk’s hands in either of his own and bears down on them just to make sure they’re steady.

“A few hours.” He corrects.

He drags Hunk to the couch as he laughs. Hunk hurries to shed his apron before it gets dirty, but Keith tosses it over to the back of the couch and distracts him easily by laying him out against the cushions. When Hunk is half-buried under decorative pillows, Keith grabs for the quilt folded over the back of the recliner and shakes the stiffness out of it.

He climbs onto Hunk’s lap, who is hiding his squiggly little smile against his palm, and covers them both completely before he relaxes against Hunk’s warm.

Kosmo appears beside them, sniffing at the tops of their heads. Hunk reaches up to scritch behind his ears, and, when Keith knocks his head against his arm, smooths down the curly-curls that sprout at the apex of Keith’s skull.

The wolf-dog seems to contemplate jumping up there and crushing them both, but inevitably decides that he likes having his own space instead. When he tires of Hunk’s petting, he scurries away to steal the empty recliner.

Which is fine for Keith, because it just means that Hunk has two free hands. He gathers them both and presses the palms against his cheeks, leaning into the touch. Hunk’s thumb slides along his skin, past the barely-there freckles, past the fractured ghost-touches of unkind fingers digging in there, and Keith revels in it, thanks him for it with a smooch across the nose.

“Thank you.” Keith murmurs in response to so many things all at once, hiding himself against Hunk’s touch. He feels his tear ducts prickle as salt starts to peak out of them, but he hurries to push them back down and blames it on the overwhelming smell of pine, honey, and Hunk.

Hunk returns the kiss against the bridge of Keith’s nose, probably getting mostly eyelashes when he dips too far to the left, and keeps his hands obediently in place for Keith to drink his fill. Keith gets into moods, sometimes, that leave him aching for contact and silent reassurances, and Hunk was never one to turn him away.

“Should we cut the decorating short?”

“No.” Keith lazily opens his eyes to look around. They didn’t have much left to do, and Keith was eager to see if Hunk was pleased with the outcome vs his vision. “Just… a minute.”

“Thought you said an hour." Hunk teases, gentle soft as baby powder. "Guess now is a bad time to tell you to look up, hm?”

And Keith, of course, automatically does. Above them lies an innocent bundle of mistletoe, teetering on the edge of falling off of the ceiling hook that Hunk must’ve slapped up there when Keith was distracted a couple hours ago.

“How— _when_ did you get up there to do that?” Keith laughs, the sound foiling in his chest as he tries to keep a straight face.

Hunk winks. “The power of love, baby.”

If Keith hadn’t fallen in love with him already, he isn’t sure he’d not have gone weak at the knees from that. The only reason he doesn't now is because he's laying down, and he's got Hunk exactly where he wants him.

Keith shifts up, half to get his arms underneath himself and half to look Hunk dead in the eye as he says— no, proclaims, “I love you.”

Hunk flounders, just at that. That calm bravado washes away like shells on a beach, crumpling into something soft and vulnerable, like the underbelly of a snail turned over but not as gross. He hesitantly reaches up to curve a lock of hair behind Keith’s ear, tracing the shell of it. His fingers skip across the skin like fairy wings on blades of grass, but it’s too gentle. Keith feels like he’s about to float away, with how bubbly his heart was getting.

He kisses Hunk, fast and a bit unkind. Their lips scrape together, teeth almost clink uncomfortably, but Hunk laughs during it anyway. He sucks his bottom lip in to nurse the ache, then presses it soundly against Keith again, desperate in his own way.

Because it wasn’t the decorations or the music that had him so happy this year. Only Keith, and if Keith asked, Hunk would be grossly honest to say that he’d be happy to stay on the couch throughout the entire week with him and do nothing more than cuddle and kiss, and maybe laugh at fart jokes on the TV.

“Love you.” Hunk promises back, in the quiet aftermath. Then, “You taste like popcorn.”

And Keith laughs, burying his face against the nook between Hunk’s arm and his chest. “Merry Christmas?”

Hunk pffts at that, letting him hide away. He reaches for the remote to switch the TV from music to something with more substance. Maybe one of those puppet-holiday movies?

Either way, he was happy as long Keith was there to press his cold toes against the warm of his shins and poke holes in the plot every step of the way.

Hunk presses a kiss against the top of his head. “Merry Christmas, Keith.”

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote hunk being way more in control than he probably would be in this situation
> 
> make sure u guys send peachie peach some love over on twitter [@s_peachxv](https://twitter.com/s_peachxv)!!


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